


Answers To Questions

by ros3bud009



Series: Wanna Be Missed [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Casual Sex, Discussing Past Sexual Partners, Fingering, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexy Prime Powers, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “Ok, fine, but you can’t judge me for it since you’re the one insisting I say it outloud.”Ratchet gave him a disbelieving look in response, and with an exasperated sigh Rodimus looked up at the ceiling as he steeled himself like a mech facing his impending doom.“Is Optimus a better frag than me?”---------------------------Ratchet has some answers for Rodimus's questions.





	Answers To Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic for the series and lucky you, it features more smut. I just *clenches fist* love characters having conversations when they're supposed to be fucking.

“Ratchet?”

One of Ratchet’s optics onlined to peer at where Rodimus was curled up against his side, vents still open but cooling fans only lazily whirling to whisk away the last of his body heat. The servo stroking between the Prime’s spoilers kept the same steading rhythm.

“Something on your processor?”

Rodimus lightly sucked on his bottom lip before, predictably, shaking his helm. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

Ratchet’s optic offlined again as he sighed. His servo continued to stroke comfortingly.

“It’s clearly something since this is the third time tonight you’ve done this.”

With a noncommittal grunt, Rodimus shifted and rolled out of Ratchet’s hold, insisting, “It’s dumb so don’t worry about it, ok? We should recharge anyway--”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ratchet interrupted as he reached out with his free servo to catch Rodimus’s shoulder, tugging it back towards him. Rodimus squirmed, putting up a half-afted attempt to escape, but by the time Ratchet had him on his back and trapped under the medic’s bulk, Rodimus relaxed.

“Come on, Ratch, that’s not fair.” Rodimus’s lips curled into a sly grin as his knee came up to rasp against Ratchet’s crotch. “You know I can’t say no to you when you have me pinned down.”

“Nice try, but I’ve fragged you enough times tonight that that won’t distract me,” Ratchet insisted. The sultry façade fell away with a huff of Rodimus’s vents.

“Now that’s definitely not fair.”

“I don’t play fair. Now come on, spit it out.”

Rodimus’s spoilers gave a brief nervous flutter against the berth as he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.

“Ok, fine, but you can’t judge me for it since you’re the one insisting I say it outloud.”

Ratchet gave him a disbelieving look in response, and with an exasperated sigh Rodimus looked up at the ceiling as he steeled himself like a mech facing his impending doom.

“Is Optimus a better frag than me?”

Ratchet blinked, his audials resetting, waiting for the punchline. But none came as Rodimus gave another half-sparked squirm.

“Seriously?”

“I told you it was dumb,” Rodimus muttered, optics only briefly flitting to Ratchet’s face before they moved away.

“But it bothers you enough that you kept almost asking,” Ratchet pointed out, almost more to himself as his processor got to work trying to piece out the bewildering puzzle in front of him. “You looking for a ranked list, kid?”

Rodimus rolled his optics, as if it was Ratchet being the ridiculous one here, and said, “No, it’s not—well, yes, that would be kind of hilarious, but no. I know that the whole sexy Prime power thing would muddle the criteria involved.”

That got an amused chuckle out of Ratchet.

“Primus forbid a ranked list of mechs I’ve fragged have unfair criteria,” Ratchet teased, but he kept it soft since Rodimus’s frame still held tension. He couldn’t help shifting his weight to one arm so he could reach up to run his knuckles along Rodimus’s cheek, bringing the Prime’s gaze back to him. “But that’s not what this is about.”

Rodimus frowned and, slowly, shook his helm.

“Guess not, no.”

It seemed so wrong to see the usually boisterous and confident captain look so cowed, so—so unsure. Self-conscious even. Self-doubting.

It only took a moment to imagine sharing a title with Optimus to guess where that might be coming from.

Ratchet’s spark ached in a way he couldn’t rightly label as being due to the Prime beneath him, or due to the _Rodimus_ beneath him.

After a moment, Ratchet sighed as he pushed up onto his knees where he straddled Rodimus’s waist and sat back on his heels, watching the way that Rodimus stared up at him. “Listen,” Ratchet started, his digits smoothing across Rodimus’s abdomen, “if I could just give you a straight forward answer, I would. But you’ve fragged mechs before me, haven’t you?”

“Obviously” Rodimus agreed, not embarrassed by the admission despite the way his servos were tentative as they settled on Ratchet’s knees. “Maybe not as many as you, old mech, but more than enough.”

“Then you know it’s not as clean cut as better or worse. If I just said sure, you’re better than Optimus, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

Rodimus’s lips pressed together before nodding.

“Yeah, I know. Again, I already told you it was a dumb question.”

Ratchet’s servos strayed to Rodimus’s chest, aware of all the mechanics that lay beneath it between him and the Prime’s spark.

“Course it is. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need an answer.” Ratchet took a moment to consider his next words carefully, aware of the thin ice they were walking on and the spark beneath his palm. “The aura – the draw to you because you’re a Prime is the same, certainly. I won’t deny that.” Rodimus nodded slightly, optics zeroed in on Ratchet, as if waiting for a striking blow. With another in-vent, Ratchet continued, “But beyond that, it’s not really a matter of being ‘better’ because interfacing with Optimus was completely different.”

Rodimus’s lips pursed as he parroted back, “‘Different,’” looking utterly unimpressed.

And Ratchet couldn’t help the slight curling of his mouth.

“Don’t you give me attitude. You wanted the truth, and that’s the truth.”

“Just seems like the easy way out.”

Ratchet shrugged as he let his digits stray, trailing them down the emblem on Rodimus’s chest to trace the midline of his abdominal plating.

“It does sound cliché, but that doesn’t make it untrue.”

Rodimus’s servos squeezed Ratchet’s knees as his plating shuddered ever so slightly under Ratchet’s digit tips.

“Fine, guess I’ll have to just ask more specific questions then,” Rodimus said, acting put-upon about the whole thing, and already that shade of theatrics was an improvement in Ratchet’s optics. The sly look pulling at his expression was endearing as he asked, “Tell me something that’s better about fragging with me than with Optimus.”

There was no possible way for Ratchet to keep from snorting, bowing his helm to try to stifle it only to have it break free when Rodimus smacked his knee.

“What?” Rodimus demanded. Ratchet shook his helm as he bent forward, moving his servo from Rodimus’s middle to his collar.

“Nothing. Just should have known,” Ratchet said as he grasped the edge of Rodimus’s collar tightly to yank him up, pulling him into a kiss that Rodimus was quick to melt into. Not that Ratchet lingered for long, pulling away as he purred teasingly, “You’re a glutton for praise, after all.”

Ratchet deserved the dentae sinking into his bottom lip for the comment.

“Jerk.”

After running his glossa along his lip to soothe the slight ache from Rodimus’s retaliation, Ratchet pushed back up to peer down at his berthmate. It was only because Ratchet knew he had burned through the divinely inspired desire earlier that he could deduce the warming of his spark had nothing to do with Primehood.

“Optimus and I only interfaced a couple dozen times.”

Rodimus blinked up at him. And then continued to blink at him before finally managing to say, “What?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, a Prime’s aura doesn’t work on himself. While he riled all of us up, Optimus only ever had his naturally forged interface drive,” Ratchet explained. His digits went back to work, tracing the edges of Rodimus’s plating along his sides. However, the smile on his face slowly faded as he continued, “And he wasn’t much in the mood, what with leading an army at war. So it was a rare that he would come to me for something like this.”

The younger Prime’s expression softened.

“I guess the circumstances weren’t great.”

“Not particularly.” Ratchet’s servo drifted to Rodimus’s hips to find the seams of his interface panels. “I still welcomed those moments, but ultimately there’s something lost when you have to relearn your partner’s frame every time you come together. Considering how often he got slagged and rebuilt, that was usually literally.”

It only took a couple taps for Rodimus to open for Ratchet. While the conversation surely wasn’t particularly stimulating for the Prime’s array, his valve was still wet from their earlier couplings.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“I’m just proving a point,” Ratchet insisted as he swirled his digits in the mess of Rodimus’s valve. “We’ve already fragged more times that Optimus and I did over the span of the entire war, which means you’ve gotten a pretty good feel for my frame and what gets me off.” Ratchet’s tone was casual, as if his digits weren’t pressing into Rodimus’s well-used valve with ease, slicked by the mixture of lubricant and transfluid. Rodimus’s mouth gaped open as Ratchet curled his digits and on his first try found the hypersensitive bundle of receptors at the front of his valve wall, a weak gasp tumbling from kiss-bruised lips. There was no hiding the self-satisfied grin from Ratchet’s face. “And vice versa. I’ve fragged you enough now that I could find your hot spots while I was in recharge.”

Rodimus’s optics brightened and he grinned.

“Frag yeah. Pretty sure I could get you off faster though.”

Ratchet chuckled as he let his digits massage the bundle and watched Rodimus’s frame arch away from the berth and down against his servo.

“Than I could get you off? Or than Optimus could get me off?”

Rodimus hummed as his optics offlined, though it was unclear if it was due to being lost in pleasure or thought. Ultimately though, after groaning softly, he managed, “Both. Definitely both.”

His whole frame jerked when Ratchet’s free servo moved to press his thumb into Rodimus’s spike sheath, teasing the spike tip that had yet to fully emerge.

“Well, you’re right about one of those things.”

One of Rodimus’s optics onlined, and his grin was frankly goofy looking as he said victoriously, “You think I can get you off faster than Optimus can.”

With a small shrug, Ratchet continued his ministrations, quietly enjoying the way he could toy with Rodimus’s frame with such ease, knowing it – knowing _him_ – so intimately.

He did notice though how Rodimus’s valve clenched around him with the revelation though, and how his spike finally pressurized free of his sheath.

“Is his spike bigger than mine?”

That caught Ratchet off guard, ripping a full-frame laugh from him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not asking you to draw me a picture,” Rodimus insisted as his hips started to pump on Ratchet’s digits, seeking even more stimulation. The grin on his face gave away his own humor. “Just want to know if, you know. He’s proportional down there.”

Ratchet flicked his gaze down to Rodimus’s spike – still garishly painted, but it was endearing to him now in how very _Rodimus_ it was, and the ridges and texture were at least tasteful and felt incredible in his valve – before looking back up at Rodimus’s face.

“He’s bigger than you.”

Rodimus groaned a very unsexy groan as he flopped onto the berth, grousing, “Come _on,_ Ratchet, you can’t just say that!”

“You asked,” Ratchet pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but that’s something you lie about,” Rodimus insisted, pouting, and Ratchet had to resist the urge to lean down and either kiss the Prime or bite at his chin in chastisement.

“Should have known better than to think I’d lie.” Despite Rodimus’s grumbling, his spike pulsed under the brush of Ratchet’s knuckles, twitching when he thumbed the sensitive sensors just under the head. “Besides, I usually prefer spikes like yours anyway.”

Rodimus’s valve clenched around his digits again and his spike fully pressurized with a throb.

“Yeah?” Rodimus prompted and Ratchet chuckled as he grasped Rodimus’s spike.

“Glutton.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rodimus managed as his cooling fans kicked up another gear. “I’m a glutton for praise and you like using it against me, so just tell me how much you like my spike so we can both get what we want, would you?”

“You make a strong argument.” Ratchet took one more moment to just enjoy the Prime’s frame pressing into his servos, seeking out the pleasure he provided, before explaining, “If Optimus was spiking then I had to be loosened up beforehand. There was simply no getting around it, no matter how much I might want it hard and fast. But with a spike like yours?” Ratchet gave said spike a couple good pulls as Rodimus gazed up at him expectantly. Ratchet gave him a lecherous grin. “We can skip the niceties and get the damn thing done and done right.”

Transfluid beaded at the tip of Rodimus’s spike as he groaned and his optics flared.

“ _Primus_ , Ratch,” Rodimus managed. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“It’s a gift.”

“And mechs call _me_ intolerable.”

Ratchet chuckled as he leaned in close again, but just enough to brush his nose with Rodimus’s, making sure to pull away before the Prime could steal a breathless kiss.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to insult me.”

The servo snapping up to drag Ratchet down had been unexpected and there was no denying Rodimus when their lips met. But even when the Prime tipped his helm back to try to suck down more cool air, his servo held firm, keeping Ratchet close as his optics cycled, staring up at the medic.

“What’s different about this?” Rodimus asked, voice still strained from arousal but softer now, his optics discerning. His servo tightened on the back of Ratchet’s neck, holding him close. “Not better, just – just different.”

Ratchet’s spark thudded in his chest.

“I found comfort with Optimus,” Ratchet admitted, sure that the humor was softening, and with its waning went what little youth his face still held. “We came from a similar time and place, and we’ve grown and aged together, seen many of the same horrible things together. So it was comforting with him. It was safe. We knew each other too well to hide anything.”

Ratchet’s servos had slowed their attentions, but Rodimus didn’t seem to mind or even notice. Not with the intensity of his focus on Ratchet.

“And with me?”

“And with you, well—Primus strike me where I stand, but I actually have fun with you.” Ratchet’s chuckle rang with self-deprecation when Rodimus’s optics widened at that. “I realize that sounds small in comparison, but it’s easy to forget sometimes that just because my youth is long gone doesn’t mean that brat I used to be isn’t still kicking around in this old spark of mine desperate to have some fun.”

Rodimus still stared up at him with wide, over-bright optics.

And then he was pushing up from the berth, shoving Ratchet up and over, ignoring Ratchet’s startled complaints until Rodimus had fully turned the tables, sprawling Ratchet on his back and straddling his broad hips and pinning his servos next to his helm.

“What’s gotten into you--?!”

“Open up,” Rodimus insisted as his valve dragged across the panel separating it from Ratchet’s spike. “I need to ride you so fragging hard, Ratch.”

The quiet rumble of lust that Ratchet had harbored while teasing Rodimus’s frame roared to life all at once, as if it was just another flame under Rodimus’s command, burning Ratchet up from the inside out. There was simply no way to deny Rodimus. Ratchet’s spike barely had a moment to start pressurizing before Rodimus settled his valve over it, giving Ratchet nowhere to pressurize but directly into soft wet heat.

“ _By the Unmaker_ ,” Ratchet ex-vented as his helm fell back against the berth, optics offlining for that moment as pleasure assaulted his frame so suddenly. Rodimus’s digits entangled with his own where they were pinned. “You have to tell me what I said so I can use it again.”

Rodimus’s laugh was light and beautiful and his hips began to lift and fall.

“It’s like you said before,” Rodimus said as his servos squeezed and pressed against Ratchet’s. He was already setting a quick pace, panting and groaning as he followed through on his word and rode Ratchet in earnest. “I’m a sucker for your praise.”

Even as Ratchet was finding his frame being pulled into Rodimus’s passion, the Prime’s valve working hard to drag an overload from him and winning the fight, he managed to say, “Wasn’t praise, just an answer to your question.”

Rodimus’s lips pulled up into a wide and easy grin and his optics were bright with emotions that Ratchet couldn’t rightly pinpoint.

“Oh, believe me, Ratchet, it was praise. If I can make a bucket of bolts like you feel young, I have to be doing _something_ right.”

Ratchet let out a noise halfway between a grunt and a startled laugh. “Braggart,” he managed as his servos tugged where Rodimus held them, hoping to reach down and grasp the Prime by the hips. But Rodimus’s hold stayed firm and Ratchet easily relented to the casual show of control.

“Now that one I don’t hear as often,” Rodimus teased. His frame moved fluidly, rolling into each grind of his valve meeting Ratchet’s plating, his spike engulfed in glorious silken protomesh before Rodimus would lift away for another roll of his hips. The low whine that caught in Rodimus’s vocalizer had Ratchet’s hips jerking up to meet that next roll. “Fraaaag. Honestly, I dunno how you do it, but you manage to make _me_ feel young again.”

“Oh? Are you actually acknowledging your age for once?”

Dentae found Ratchet’s bottom lip yet again and, truthfully, the brief, sharp pain only had him groaning against Rodimus’s mouth.

“Shut up.”

“Captains first.”

There was nothing quite like the rumbling of Rodimus’s frame when he laughed and how it transferred through his valve, calipers rippling around Ratchet.

“Primus, neither of us is ever going to shut up then.”

“Let go of my servos and I’ll see if I can’t at least keep your mouth busy with just my name.”

Rodimus’s helm bumped against Ratchet’s as he heaved with giggles, optics shut tight and the protomesh wrinkling at the corners of them from his overwhelming glee, pausing in his ride while his valve fluttered with the rest of his frame.

And Ratchet’s spark felt lighter than it had in literal ages.


End file.
